


Once More Unto the Breach

by cellard00rs



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Action/Adventure, Amnesia, Demonic Possession, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan and Ford try to reconnect their bond, but what kind of chance do they have when Stan's mind starts to shatter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More Unto the Breach

Ford mistakenly thought that when they departed the Arctic Ocean he’d warm up, but now here he is - in the sweltering Moroccan heat and there’s still a chill set deep down in the marrow of his bones. To be fair, he and Stanley had spent an extensive amount of time out among the frigid waters, hunting for strange new anomalies he’d picked up there, but they’ve moved past that. Mainly because various clues they’d uncovered pointed them in this direction.

Atlantis.

It was definitely something worth exploring. When he’d been younger he’d dreamed about searching for the lost, fabled city but in the end had written it off as a myth. Not to mention his attentions had been turned around and inward, more focused towards his own country and - in particular – Gravity Falls. But with the whole situation in Oregon contained, it had been easy to focus on old, long forgotten pursuits.

After all, if multidimensional travel was possible, certainly a city at the bottom of the sea was not far fetched. Besides, it's…important to stay active. To continue to spend time with his brother. He's still grateful Stanley had been willing to give him a second chance, to try and reconnect with him as twins. Ford often lamented his mistakes when he’d been traveling – the picture of them as children a constant reminder.

He held on to it through thick and thin. When he’d been tortured in Dimension Rigel 2.6, when he’d been lonely in the bareness of Viz world, when he’d celebrated with fellow freedom fighters on Shinna Ray – it was a reminder, a beacon. It was something he always kept close to him and of course, naturally, when he’d finally returned home – he’d forgotten all about it.

Instead, he’d let himself get lost in the bitterness of their old, petty issues. He’s ashamed of this still. He should have been…better. But when he’d first emerged from the portal and seen Stanley there, arms wide open…it just set off his baser reactions. But, at least it had been ones of violence instead of ones of a…more passionate nature.

A nature that – as far as he is concerned – Stan will _never_ know of.  Not ever. He’s older now – wiser now – his hormones easing back to become a periphery thing. He’s beyond such fleshier needs. Which is great! It means he can continue to focus on more scholarly endeavors, focusing on things that _aren’t_ immoral and impossible.

He’s got his brother back – that’s all that matters. He can’t afford to lose him again. He needs nothing else for the rest of his (no doubt) short life. After all, once you’re over the hill it’s all about rolling down it. No longer are you bright eyed and bushy tailed in matters of the world, you’re…older. Your life is nothing short of a ticking clock. That’s where he is now – heartbreakingly elderly. But not elderly in the sense where he’s going to sit back on his haunches and do nothing – oh no! He’s going to continue to learn and explore until he falls into the grave.

And, best of all, he’s going to do it with his brother by his side! A brother whom he should really go looking for. When they docked, Stan said he was off to ‘find babes’. This is pretty much what he says every time they dock. When they’re out on the seas, it’s all about treasure but once their feet touch solid ground it becomes all about babes.

Considering ‘babes’ could be anywhere, Ford has his work cut out for him…but not by much. Stan tends to gravitate towards the seedier locales of their stops, so it’s merely a process of elimination. But first thing first! Ford turns his attentions back to the man before him, “And you’re sure about this, Sekarr?”

“Have I ever steered you wrong, my six fingered friend?”

Ford smirks, “What about the notes you gave me for the math final?”

Sekarr belts out a laugh, “You cannot give me grief over what took place ages ago! I merely went to that silly school for the women! Not for the PhD!”

“Yet you have one of each,” Ford returns dryly, “Despite your terrible breath and even worse notes.”

Sekarr shakes his head, “Math has never been one of my strong suits. I have always been more for historical lore – you know this. It is what has brought you here today. And I must say…it is good to see you, Stanford. It had been so long since I’d heard from you, I feared the worst.”

“Yes, yes I was…traveling.”

“But not in this part of the world, I take it?”

“You have no idea,” Ford says as he picks up the weathered scrolls Sekarr thrust at him earlier, “You really believe these will lead me to where I want to go?”

“If Atlantis truly does exist – then yes. I do believe these will point you on the right path. I have held them all these years with the intention of going but then,” he shakes his head, “Life is a mysterious mistress. I met Karuho and my heart, my reason – all was lost. However, she has given me more than I could have ever hoped for. Three sons, two daughters – I am swimming in grandchildren.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And you? Did you…find a special lady?” Sekarr looks at him knowingly, “Or fellow?”

Ford feels his face heat, “Well, I – er..”

Sekarr walks over and pats his back roughly, “You need not worry. We live in a different world now – one much different from the one we were raised in! While I have never seen harm in the variations of love, the world itself has finally grown more accepting. At least, in part. Certainly better than it was when we were in school, no?”

“Anything would be better than when we were in school,” Ford mutters, thinking of his father and an…unfortunate incident. He quickly brushes the bad memory away, “But to answer your question – no. No lady or-or fellow.”

“Ha!” Sekarr smacks his back again, “So it IS a fellow you seek!”

Ford scratches the back of his head and avoids Sekarr’s eyes. This seems to be answer enough for his old college buddy, who teasingly supplies, “I know many men who would be interested. If you are to be in town for a while I could…arrange something.”

Ford’s sure his face has taken on a spectacular color now as he shakes his head, “Ah, no. No, no –I’m-I’m good.”

Sekarr rubs at his chin then snaps his fingers, “There _is_ someone. Isn’t there?”

A bitten off curse escapes Ford as he starts pushing the scrolls into his coat. Sekarr always was too damned insightful for his own good. And it’s clear he knows it too, as he gives Ford a knowing wink, “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But you must bring your beloved by sometime – I would love to meet him.”

“You just might,” the words are blurted out and Ford honestly has no idea how they escaped them. So much so that the very tips of his ears burn as he mutters, “Shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you should,” Sekarr murmurs, “It is no good to keep things bottled up inside for so long. You can confide in me, if you wish. True – we have not talked in ages. But perhaps the estrangement of time makes it easier? I am impartial, practically a stranger.”

“So you still don’t like Yoo-hoo’s anymore?”

Sekarr’s eyes flash, “You don’t happen to have one, do you?”

Ford shakes his head and Sekarr looks momentarily crestfallen, “You have a fine memory. I think I would give one of my grandchildren for that drink. Probably Navin. He is…quite trying.”

Ford eases towards the exit, smiling, “I understand. I’ve dealt with my fair share of trying people,” he holds out one hand for Sekarr to shake, “Well, I should get going. Thanks again, old friend.”

Sekarr takes his hand, shakes it, but says smartly, “You’re ability to change subjects is impressive…but again, if you wish to talk of your حبيبك, I am here for you.”

“He’s not my-!” Ford stops himself, eyes casting down, “He’s…not that. He’s… _something_ , but not that. He’ll never be _that_. But…I’ll take what I can and-and be content.”

With his gaze directed downwards, Ford is taken by surprise when Sekarr tugs him close and gives him a good hug. Sekarr was never much of a hugger when they were in college – perhaps his wife’s influence? Regardless, Ford finds he appreciates the gesture and he returns it. When Sekarr pulls away, his voice is soft, “I wish you luck in your travels, Stanford. As much as I wish you luck with your desired. May he soon see you, have you, and keep you close.”

Ford huffs out a laugh and leaves, thinking that Sekarr’s last words confirm it – he’s _definitely_ under his wife’s influence.

 

+

 

Ford’s earlier assumptions are correct– he doesn’t have to search for long to find Stanley. The first bar he comes across that is nothing short of a hole in the wall is where he finds him. And what does he find him doing?

“Come on! COME ON!” Stan roars at the giant before him. The giant with the bald head, muscles far too big to be real and a face that looks like it was dragged across asphalt. The giant who has his fists raised and a snarl on his face as he takes a swing, meaty knuckles connecting with Stan’s jaw. Stan’s head snaps back hard and the large crowd that surrounds the two combatants’ cheers.

Stan staggers back against a ratty looking bar, knocking over glasses and dark bottles of booze, and when he rights himself it’s clear his nose has been well mashed, a trail of bright red blood trailing down from one nostril to dribble over his lips, stain his teeth pink. He wipes at it, eyes on fire as he happily growls, “Nice, nice. My turn.”

Stan charges forward, barrels right into the giant’s midsection, and the spectators back away as the pair collapses onto a small, flimsy wooden table that breaks beneath them. Stan’s fists meet with the giant’s face and body again and again. The crowd roots for him – shaking fistfuls of money in the air, liquor accidently sloshing from over filled tankards, smoke from cigars and cigarette’s rising into the air to make hazy clouds.

The giant pushes Stan off of him, manages to get to his feet and swings again but Stan easily ducks out of it, offers a smooth kidney punch that makes the giant wheeze before he gets met with a fist to his jaw – a solid hit that knocks forth a spurt of saliva and gore. But the giant is not deterred for long, instead returning the favor with a solid right hook to Stan’s face. Stan lets out a curse, clutching at his chin to mumble, “Think ya broke m’ dentures…”

If the giant cares, he doesn’t show it. Instead he wraps his arms around Stan, squeezes him and Stan scowls, kicking out. The tip of his heel tears at the giant’s shin, then manages to eek up just that little bit higher to make contact with a far more sensitive spot. The giant bellows, arms unbinding, hands going for his wounded pride only for Stan to charge down with another fist atop his head.

This is the killing blow. The giant collapses, breathing but defeated, and the crowd is damn near deafening with their rowdy approval. Money exchanges hands and while in some cases it’s civilized in others it’s not so much. A few patrons, clearly distressed at having lost, argue with their gambling partners and more fighting breaks out. Stan – for his part – goes back towards the bar he fell over earlier and snatches up a tumbler of amber colored liquor.

He downs it in one shot and doesn’t even react when the sound of a laser pistol fires off into the air. While the rest of the bar is frozen, stunned by the unusual noise, Stan grabs a glowing cigar that rests in an ashtray. He takes a hefty drag as Ford walks over to him, face a firm mask of disapproval, “Stanley…”

“Save it,” Stan returns loftily, one hand gesturing to a man behind the counter, “C’mon Anass, pay up.”

Anass walks forward, shaking his head as he unfurls a thick roll of bills. He counts out a few of them and smacks them down onto Stan’s waiting hand, “I have seen many things in my time – but never did I dream I would see some old, wrinkled American take down Saïd.”

“Eh, don’t think he saw it either,” Stan returns gleefully as he counts the money. He slides two lone bills back over the counter, “One for your troubles and one for Saïd. He’s a good kid.”

Stan stubs out the cigar and turns, walking out of the bar. He steps over the unconscious Saïd and ignores Ford, who follows at his heels, frowning the whole time, “Why on earth did you-?”

“We gotta eat, right? Besides, that was fun.”

“You’re far too old to be having that kind of fun, Stanley,” Ford grouses, “It’s childish of you to pick fights to earn – what? A couple hundred?”

“More than a couple hundred. And to think, I was gonna take you out to dinner tonight, my treat. But now? Now you can just have,” he shudders, “Fish.”

Considering the two of them have been eating nothing but fish for months, the idea is rather shudder worthy. However, Ford stands his ground, “I just don’t want you getting hurt. That man was half your age.”

“Hmm and he fell that way too. Kids nowadays _think_ they know how to take a beatin’ but they _really_ don’t,” Stan returns and he finally looks at his twin, “You get what you need?”

He gets a frustrated huff in response but a confirming nod and Stan beams, mouth looking like a horror show. Ford can’t help the smile that forms at the sight, “You’re a mess.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Stan chuckles and he throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders, shaking him, “Come on…guess I’ll take you out to eat after all.”

“Really? Getting soft in your old age?”

“Watch it.” Stan returns but the words have no heat to them.

 

+

 

They board the Stan O’War II long after the sun sets. Ford has the scrolls all unfurled and he’s making notations here and there in his new journal. Stan, for his part, sits on one of their benches and fiddles with his lower set of dentures. He’s pops it out of his mouth and thumbs one of the teeth, finding it loose. He does his best to snap it back into place before returning it to his mouth.

Ford can see him out of the corner of his eyes as he murmurs, “You know; I could fix that for you.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Stan bares his teeth, runs his tongue over them, “See?”

“I meant your teeth as a whole. I don’t have dentures – you know why?”

“Because you’re a nerd who probably knows far more about dental care than anyone should.”

“No! Well,” he pauses, thinking, “Yes, actually – I _do_ have a profound understanding of dental care thanks to my travels, but regardless - I also have my teeth thanks to an invention I developed. It guarantees that I’ll have my original teeth for the rest of my life and while yours are gone, there are adjustments that could be made that would make it possible for me to update and improve your dentures to a point where they would be indistinguishable from real teeth – in fact, they’d probably be better.”

Stan’s eyes narrow, “Are you trying to suggest I should let you _operate_ on me?”

“Why not? I put in my own metal plate – I’m sure I could-!”

“Let me stop you right there, Doctor Frankenstein. I’m not letting you work on my mouth or any other part of me. I’m good – got it?”

“Fine, fine,” Ford breathes, attention back on the scrolls. He’s so absorbed in them that it takes him a few moments to notice that something is…not right. Stan has gotten to his feet and he looks…dazed. He’s just…staring out at nothing. Ford frowns and pulls away from his work to walk over to him, “Stanley?”

Stan doesn’t answer him. Instead he walks forward, his movements slow and trancelike, as if he were a marionette - invisible strings guiding him. Ford follows after him, calling out to him repeatedly but Stan doesn’t answer. Instead Stan stands on the deck of their boat and looks up at the sky. Ford waves a hand in front of his face, tries to get his attention but he gets nothing for his efforts.

Then suddenly Stan curls inwards, clutches at his skull and when he finally speaks his voice comes out in a high pitched hiss, “Yirb cfob! Fq yrokp! Zxkq hbbm jb ebob!”

“What?” Ford breathes and then Stan turns to him and his eyes – good lord, his eyes glow _yellow_ , irises deadly black slits as he screams, “IBQ JB LRQ! IBQ JB LRQ! ”

“Stanley!” Ford reaches for him but Stan collapses to his knees, still clutching at his head, breathing hard, eyes closed. Ford falls down next to him, takes his shoulders in his hands and faces him, “Stan…calm down. It’s okay. Relax. Just breathe…”

A long, drawn out moan leaves Stan and then he shudders. Hard. When he finally opens his eyes, Ford lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding, “Better?”

“Uh…yeah. Better,” Stan returns but his voice is…quiet. Different. He blinks a few times then asks, “Um…where am I?”

“The deck of the boat. You came up here and-”

“No, no I mean…” Stan looks around, unsure, “Where am I? And who-who are you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> حبيبك - Lover
> 
> Yirb cfob! Fq yrokp! Zxkq hbbm jb ebob! - Blue fire! It burns! Can’t keep me here!
> 
> IBQ JB LRQ - LET ME OUT!


End file.
